aqua fortis

Monday, October 30, 2006

As you can see from our pumpkin, at left (officially titled The Glowing Eyes of the Scary Buddha Are Watching You), it's that time of year again. I like Halloween. I like coming up with a costume. And my Medusa costume was officially a success, after road-testing it at two parties this past weekend...although, at one of the parties, there were two people who had to ask what I was--as if having a bunch of snakes on my head would qualify me to be anything other than Medusa. Snakes On A Head, maybe??

Anyway, you can see the costume (with me in it) at right, along with a close-up of the snake headband, which I'm quite proud of. I don't know why the lighting is so strange; multiple light sources, I guess. There might be better pictures of me and Rob from the other party, which had an actual photographer set up in one of the rooms. On the other hand, it is a rule that Rob and I can never both look normal in a photograph of the two of us. Either I have my eyes shut and he looks great, or I look normal and he looks like the devil, etc.

This one is Rob in his jackalope costume, which basically consisted of the antler/bunny ear headband. This one was harder for people to guess, which kind of surprised me, but I suppose it depends on where you grew up. I think if you're from the southwest it's more likely that you'd know what a jackalope is. Lots of people guessed reindeer. Those would be some pretty mutant ears for a reindeer.

Anyway, besides educating people on the more obscure mythical denizens of the American West, we also learned a few interesting things at these Halloween parties. For instance, I was alerted to the existence of the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, which apparently everybody but me knows about. Be sure to read the Open Letter to the Kansas School Board. And, though I'm breaking my anti-MySpace rule by telling you about it, there is a highly amusing music video on Weird Al's page. Scroll down a little bit to "White and Nerdy" and hit play. Trust me, it's worth supporting Rupert Murdoch for those five minutes. It is so freakin' worth it.

Friday, October 27, 2006

The crowd will roar. The streets and buildings will echo with the sound and nobody will be able to escape. We will all be caught up in it and rattling like peas in a pod. It will be the worst day of our lives. It will be the best day of our lives.

And Sanctus Oren the Paramount said that all of you will be forsaken by all of your gods, Marabus and Dominia and Crator, and that one shall rise to take their place, and It shall be the Golden Ox, the One who lives but to strive. And after your centuries of striving, of hard work in the name of the Golden One, then comes the Day of Release, and we shall all be released from our burdens.

That is what they tell me. That is what I learn from Mother and Father, from Mistress Bett during Sanctusday lessons each week. When I am in school, those rare days when I can be spared from the farming, they tell us, too. It is coming, they say. The Golden One's Day of Release. Nobody knows exactly when, but all the Revered Ones at the temple say that it is soon. I ask my parents how the Revered Ones know this, but this earns me a hard slap every time I ask. I know I deserve it. For everyone down to the littlest child knows that it is true, and that until the Day of Release we are commanded by the Golden One to spend our days in toil so that our kei, our innermost selves--that part of us that makes us individual workers for the Golden One instead of merely automatons--so that our kei are worthy of ascent into the Next Plane.

Before, in the Lower Planes, it was first the mountain kingdom of Marabus the Monkey where our people toiled to create the first tools, the first fires, the first clothing to cover our nakedness. So it was that we, the Ascensior, were lifted to the plane of Dominia, where we built rude structures to live in, and our first holy idols to worship. When these were deemed worthy of the Great Dominia, we were then lifted to the existence of Crator, the Owl, who ushered in the age of Wisdom in which the books of the Golden One were first received and written.

But the Golden One has not seen fit to transmit to us any knowledge of our destinies beyond the Day of Release. He has not seen fit to tell us what god will rule our next Plane, though there is much speculation by the Revered Ones. Even the great Sanctus Oren, prophet of old, had little to say on this. It troubles me greatly that nobody seems to find it odd, this lack of knowledge. Am I the only one who questions? Am I the only one here who will brave a slap to find the truth?
***

Got this from Chris's blog. Apparently my procrastination has reached gargantuan proportions. And no, I don't know what happened to Question 34.

1. FIRST NAME?
Sarah

2. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
I was almost named after a nun, in which case I would have been Stella. My middle name comes from my great-aunt.

3. WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY?
Yesterday, when the chlorine started burning my eyeballs following a long swim at the gym pool. I really need to get goggles. Seriously.

4. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
Yes, when I can bother to make it look tidy. Ironically, I did poorly at penmanship in grade school. Or maybe I just resented having to write out the Gettysburg Address a bunch of times.

16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
I waste huge amounts of potentially productive time worrying about all the shit I have to do and stressing that I won't be able to get it done. And then I waste a bunch of time comparing myself to other people who seem to be far more productive and accomplished than I am.

17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
My friend Fumi, whom I'm missing in advance because she's probably going to leave for a medical residency program far, far away, and I fear that the hospital will suck her in without a trace.

18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU?
God, no. But if you put it on your blog and want me to read it, you can leave me a comment.

19. WHAT COLOR PANTS, SHIRT AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
I'm wearing blue jeans, a brown shirt, and really goofy house slippers my mom gave me, which are black with grey applique cats on the top wearing leopard-print scarves.

20. LAST THING YOU ATE?
Toast, coffee, and orange juice.

21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
A whirring laptop, an episode of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, and Rob moving his ruler around a piece of paper as he makes a technical drawing.

22. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
I would be clear and gray, the school colors of the San Francisco Art Institute (I shit you not).

23. FAVORITE SMELL?
I like yummy food smells, like onions and garlic sauteeing or cookies baking. Hard to pinpoint a favorite. The smell of a not-too-distant ocean breeze.

24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
A recording asking me to vote for Proposition 84.

25. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE YOU ARE ATTRACTED TO?
Face; eyes; smile; overall build. If I'm actually talking to them, how intelligent I perceive them to be. (Yes, I am an intellectual snob.)

26. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON YOU STOLE THIS FROM?
He's a peach. A very funny peach who drinks a lot of beer.

27. FAVORITE DRINK?
Non-alcoholic: Coffee or tea (iced or hot).
Alcoholic: Since a couple of negative puking incidents with vodka gimlets, that one's been demoted, so I'll stick to good beer. I can't drink it fast enough to hurt myself. Currently in my fridge--Gordon Biersch Marzen.

28. FAVORITE SPORT?
Soccer (i.e. football), basketball

29. EYE COLOR?
Brown

30. HAT SIZE?
Umm...small?

31. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
Nope.

32. FAVORITE FOOD?
Japanese or Italian

33. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
What kind of a choice is that?

35. SUMMER OR WINTER?
Winter, definitely. Then again, I live in California, so this is basically like asking "100 degrees or 50 degrees?"

36. HUGS OR KISSES?
You better have a good reason for hugging OR kissing me, or else please don't touch.

37. FAVORITE DESSERT?
Creme brulee is up there. So is the chocolate souffle at Mangia Mangia in Albany, CA, if it still exists.

38. WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
No clue. Somebody as prone to procrastination as I am, I would guess.

39. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
Anybody with legitimate things to do and the motivation to actually do them.

40. WHAT BOOKS ARE YOU READING?
Maya Running by Anjali Banerjee; A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth (which I can guarantee you I'll probably still be reading in a year's time).

41. WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
I'm not currently using a mouse pad. Ha HA! Take that.

42. WHAT DID YOU WATCH LAST NIGHT ON TV?
Whose Line Is It Anyway, MASH, and part of the EPL Review Show.

43. FAVORITE SOUNDS?
My cat meowing, music that I really want to listen to right at that moment, and rain outside while I'm cozied up inside.

44. ROLLING STONE OR BEATLES?
Don't see why I have to choose, but if forced I guess I'll say Beatles.

45. THE FURTHEST YOU'VE BEEN FROM HOME?
China, I guess, is the obvious winner, unless I wax metaphorical.

Thursday, October 26, 2006

I seem to work in bursts these days. However, my definition of productivity is probably up for debate. In any case, I have news I've been accumulating. Not news like the meth "super lab" they just busted a couple miles away from my house. Good news. Firstly, and most belatedly, I found out that the young adult short story anthology that I was supposed to be part of after winning third place in a contest is back on. Click the link for the full story of why I had kind of given up on it. Sorry; just way too lazy to type it out twice.

Secondly, there's been a lot of activity on the non-paying writing scene. I contributed two book reviews to The Edge of the Forest, an online children's literature monthly journal put together primarily by children's and YA bloggers. There's no monetary compensation for this, but I get free books! That's a nice thing. I've also gotten a couple of free books directly from publishers, in order to review them on our reviews blog, which is cool. Lastly, I'm going to be part of the Graphic Novels committee for the Cybils--the first annual Children's and YA Bloggers' Literary Awards. I'm looking forward to that. I feel like all TadMack's and my blogging efforts are showing some interesting results, finally.

And now for something completely different: I've been working on Halloween costumes for me and Rob and I can safely say that our costumes rock this year. Yes, I know in the past I've grossly misjudged the awesomeness of our costumes, but this time I swear it's different. Nothing fancy. Just fun. As mentioned before, I'm dressing as Medusa, and I spent an evening attaching rubber "bendy snakes" I bought on eBay to a headband using big fat bookbinding needles and thread. I can definitively tell you that the snakes will give way before the thread does. You can see the in-progress and finished headband at right. I also borrowed a flowing black dress from a friend. I tried it all on earlier tonight and was very pleased. I promise to post a picture.

Rob, meanwhile, decided he wants to be a Jackalope, which I have to admit is an awesome idea. So our friend Jay found a pair of black bunny ears (which, amusingly, seem designed for a Playboy-bunny-type costume), and then I went to Michael's and bought an array of craft materials from which to create the antlers. I ended up constructing a sort of wire mesh armature, onto which I adhered brown felt. Then I used brown pipe cleaners to attach the antlers to the bunny-ear headband. See left for the result. I'm rather proud of myself. They're not perfect, but they get the idea across.

We'll be testing out the results tomorrow night at a friend's Halloween party at the Health and Social Justice Co-op in Berkeley. We're going to a show at Yoshi's first, so I'll have to try a quick-change in the car. Good thing it's pretty much just a dress and a headband for me, and a headband for Rob. I'm not going to a jazz concert dressed as Medusa.

Monday, October 23, 2006

"I saw it, I'm telling you," Mira insisted, pointing at the gap in the fence between her family's property and the open, unclaimed meadow. "It was right here!"

"Sure it was." David had that smirk on his face that meant he didn't believe her. He was an annoying little goonbag anyway. So what if he didn't believe in fairies? She knew what she'd seen.

"Just because you think you're too old to play Dapple Glen doesn't mean I didn't see what I saw," Mira said, stubbornly. When they were eight-year-olds, growing up next door to one another with nobody else living in the area for miles around, David hadn't cared that he was playing with a girl. He'd been happy enough to build a pretend world with its elfin inhabitants and its imaginary rules. They'd even written it all down, drawing pictures and stapling it together in the Book of Dapple Glen.

That's why Mira didn't want to tell him the strangest thing about what she saw. The little creature she saw struggle to get his shirt free of a fence nail--

He looked just like the picture they'd drawn. She even knew his name. Johnny Woodcutter.
***

Thursday, October 19, 2006

As you can see from the evidence at left, we went to the Renaissance Faire this past weekend in Hollister, at Casa de Fruta. (Speaking of Hollister--if I may digress a moment--why is it so popular right now to wear clothing with "Hollister, California" on it? What the F is in Hollister? Nothing, except maybe the nearby Gilroy Garlic Festival. The clothing company seems based in Southern Cal, which explains something, since clearly they have not been to Hollister if they are putting it on a shirt. It's like putting Modesto on a shirt. Okay, I'm done, with apologies to Hollister for my rant.)

The RenFaire always makes for good people-watching, though there usually seems to be an abundance of middle-aged-and-older ladies with ample bosoms heaving out the top of their bodices, and not necessarily in a good way. As you can see, my costume was quite modest in the bosom department. It's an awesome costume, though--my friend Jay made it (along with Rob's costume), and she is quite a seamstress. I did buy the bracers--that was my one major purchase for the day besides booze and food (and the admission ticket, which is none too cheap). And yes, I'm wearing hi-tops. I have boots, but they're way too nice to get dusty at a fair, for crap's sake. Seriously.

Speaking of dust, the faire was so dusty I spent the next two days sneezing like a mofo. Dust and hay. They don't call it hay fever for nothing.

Anyway, I have more news, but it'll have to wait for my next post since I'm in the middle of cooking (salmon roasted w/vegetables).

Friday, October 13, 2006

No, I could not forget it, though it has been centuries of human time. It has only been a matter of days for me. Something happened that night, something that was not supposed to happen. I was watching it all from my window, pulling the drapes back and peering out at the marching throng, torches held high, ghostly reflections flickering off the fog. Just as now I stand at a window of a Paris apartment, watching the men and women purposefully stride towards the subway and the bus, workplaces and schools. Only today they are not looking for me.

I was supposed to have her--elle, la plus belle de la ville, de la paysage--my Belle Fontaine--that is what it says in all the stories, does it not? La Belle et La Bete? And I, the beast, does my inner beauty not prevail? No, they did not consider the practicalities. That she would be considered mad, and walled up in her parents' home. That they would then come after me in my own home, despite that I have never harmed a single one of that village or any village. That I would be forced to exercise the only option I felt was left to me; a dignified death by my own hand and not by the pitchforks and kitchen knives of a ravening horde of rabble.

But the moment I drew my knife across my broad wrist, the fog swirled in through my open window to engulf me, the voices spinning around me--Lui, lui, il est la! Venez, vite!--and that fog was all I knew for a time.

And in another rapid moment, I awoke. In a ludicrously small bed, unadorned with the canopies and carvings I had labored so long in solitude to create. A small mirror hung on the opposite wall, over an even smaller basin. I never once allowed a mirror in my manse. Clearly I was far from home. I could still hear voices outside, but there were also strange grumblings and roarings, belchings of smoke and honkings as if of wild geese. When I hastened to the window, the world was not as it had been. Mysterious machines prowled the hard black roads, carrying people to and fro, and the buildings grew tall, much taller than ever my own tower had been.

Not that it has been difficult to accustom myself to this new world, this modern world. At first it seemed as though someone, somewhere, must have wanted to ensure my survival. At first I did not know how or why this could have happened. I still do not know why. All I had was a letter, written in some strangely familiar script, that explained how the electric devices worked, told me where to find the food that had been left for me, and told me how to turn on the computer.

Without this computer, I would not have been able to survive. It has allowed me to eat, even to begin some small amount of work, though it has taken me many weeks, even months, to get to this modest plateau. And it has enabled me to control my earnings. The anonymous benefactor who left me the note, the apartment, also left me a surprisingly generous gift in an account with the national bank. This allowed me to live while I looked for a way to earn my own living.

Now, some years later, I have educated myself about the computer. I know much more than most in this modern age of technology. I have searched every last petit peu of this machine that was left for me when I first woke here. And all I have found is one single piece of information about my benefactor, one single name that was on the bank account when the paperwork was first drawn up.

Thursday, October 12, 2006

Today has definitely been one of those too-depressed-to-do-anything days. At least, I found myself paralyzingly unable to write anything or work on any art or even think about the huge work-related to-do list that I tried to break into manageable pieces but instead just succeeded in making horrendously long.

I did manage to: mow the lawn; do the dishes; finish reading a really enjoyable YA novel, Gilda Joyce: The Ladies of the Lake; get my car serviced; go through a long list of e-mails; write a rather lengthy comment on this very interesting blog entry; and work out at the gym for an hour and a half. So it's not as though I've been completely idle. But I feel like I'm falling farther and farther behind on the to-do list, which probably has too much stuff on it anyway. The list seems to accumulate items faster than I can cross them off, which is bad. Plus my dad keeps pressing me about when I'm going to visit next, and before I do that I have to get his video camera fixed, which mysteriously stopped working when we were in China.

I realize I've been a total downer the past couple of days. There was one high point of the conversation with crazy woman Tuesday night (after which everything went rapidly downhill): I heard a rather amusing joke about Congressman Foley and how his next goal is to turn over a new page, or something like that. Har.

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Despite my 45-minute appointment with Dr. Yoda, Ph.D., today, at no time did I actually discuss a truly aggravating incident involving a complete nutcase I had to hang out with for several hours yesterday.

Last night we had tickets for a Roger Waters concert at the Shoreline in Mountain View. I have to digress here and say that I really don't like the Shoreline--the acoustics are fine, but it's so huge, and I'm really not a crowd person. Plus, when you're 5-foot-one-and-a-half, and you have lawn tickets, and everybody's standing up, that is a recipe for not being able to see anything but the TV screen. Ugh.

So anyway, Rob and I went to the show with a guy he plays music with, T., and his wife C. We pull up to their house at around 5:00 to pick them up. This was my first time meeting C., and I could tell practically upon sight that I was not going to like her. It was like some primitive animal instinct, or crazy-radar; or maybe it was just a glint in her eyes. Sure enough, within one minute of conversation with her, I realized that she was--pardon my Anglo-Saxon--utterly fucking nuts.

She was just one of those people who has something to say about everything and absolutely has to say it; who just knows and is right about anything that comes out of her mouth because of her oh-so-worldly life experience; and she completely bossed her husband around, which was hard to watch. Plus I had major doubts about the degree of veracity of most of what she said. For instance, she referred repeatedly to how she "grew up in Spain," but I detected zero trace of any accent. Not that people who grow up in other countries can't speak fluent, accent-free English, but, at the risk of sounding like a know-it-all myself, I'm fairly good at detecting even slight accents, probably because my mom spent years teaching ESL students from a variety of countries while I was growing up. Even people who grow up entirely in the U.S. with immigrant parents often have a slight accent.

Anyway, I could only conclude that "grew up in" meant "lived there for a while, perhaps a few years." And C. just did not stop talking throughout the entire three-hour-plus traffic-filled car ride to Mountain View. As previously noted, no matter what topic of conversation came up, she had something of dubious accuracy or interest to add. Meanwhile, I made only the bare minimum of conversation required by politeness. Fortunately, her yammering filled any potentially awkward silences. Rob said later that he can always tell how much I like a person, or how comfortable I am in a conversation, by my level of talkativeness vs. silence, and that he could totally tell I was not happy.

Luckily, the concert was loud, and crowded, and Rob and I were able to make the excuse of "being able to see better from way up here" after T. and C. had settled their lawn chairs. And then we took a potty break, and gee, what do you know--it was just too crowded to try to find them again. (Actually, that part is true. I hate having to wend my way through a crowd in the dark, stepping on blankets and feet and god-knows-what.) And on the way home there was blessed silence because everyone fell asleep while I drove.

Unfortunately, my method of dealing with Crazy Woman was to drink a lot of beer very rapidly; and then we got home really late. So today I was very tired and slightly hung over. (Whee! Wednesday hangover!) I also felt slightly depressed because I've really been missing some of my friends (which I did talk to Dr. Yoda about). Being phone-phobic and living in Modesto are not conducive to staying in good contact with people. But I do miss you guys (you know who you are--many of you are over there in the Blogs list). So let this constitute a shout-out to the Walnut House Kroo for another Oregon get-together sometime, and a yahoo to the Millswomen for a celebratory shin-dig for TadMack, who sold her novel!!

Monday, October 09, 2006

I was totally planning for months to dress up in 1970s garb for Halloween this year, complete with roller skates. Then I lost the eBay auction for size 5 roller derby skates that I had my eye on. I was kind of glad because I really wasn't looking forward to paying the $17 or so in shipping, which would have probably exceeded the price of the skates. I was really into this idea until A) I lost the auction, and B) I thought seriously about the practicalities of wearing roller skates to a Halloween party. I don't think most people would appreciate me skating all over their floors, no matter how cool the costume might be. (And it was going to be cool--there was going to be an afro wig. And lots of gold spangles.)

Some might opine that I could still put together a good 1970s disco-era costume without the roller skates. I could wear Chuck Taylors, I suppose. But I also think one ought to be tall and thin to pull off the disco look. Otherwise I might end up looking like Little Orphan Annie instead.

Medusa. I could wear a long black dress, and then make a hat with a bunch of fake snakes attached to it. That would be quite amusing.

Rosie the Riveter. I'd have to obtain some work clothes, though, which would be hard to find in a small size.

Renaissance Wench. This would be the laziest option, as I already have a costume a friend made for me for the purposes of next weekend's Renaissance Faire, at which I plan to imbibe with gusto so I don't have to say "huzzah."

Greek Goddess. The only problem with this one is that I'd probably insist on being a specific goddess, and then I'd end up with another one of those costumes that nobody gets. Anybody have a spare Golden Apple of Discord?

Beatnik. Again, this could lend itself to misinterpretation.

Richard Simmons. I actually thought of this one myself, before reading it on the costume website. This would enable me to utilize the afro wig.

Rastafarian. The only problem with this one is I'll be going to a party in Berkeley and it's highly possible people won't notice it's a costume.

Catholic School Girl. I'm saving this one until someday in the distant future when I might be pregnant, because I think that would be hilarious.

I'm kind of liking the Medusa idea right now. I'm not sure I could get Rob to be Perseus, though. I'm thinking about making little stuffed snakes that I could put a wire in the middle of because then I could bend them into a truly dramatic hairdo.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

I'm going to attempt to post something to all the blogs I contribute to before we leave for a long weekend in Pacific Grove. We were hoping to stay in Asilomar like we did one year, but it was all booked up, so we're going to the nearby "HoJo". Let me just say that it's been eons since I stayed in a Howard Johnson, and this looks about a million times more upscale than any HoJo I've ever stayed in.

Anyway, I keep meaning to say that for the past week or two, it's been feeling like fall around here--finally! After those horrible, horrible weeks of 115-degree heat this summer, we're due a good long autumn. It's my favorite season, too. There's something about the quality of light in the fall that's so much nicer and gentler than the summer sun, blazing down on you blindingly like you're in some fascist interrogation chamber. The other day we even had our first rainshower of the season, which was very pleasant. I was hoping the rain would launder my car for me, but all it seems to have done was move the dirt around. (Washing my car is not high on my list of priorities. Fortunately, my car's a light silvery blue color that hides dirt quite well.)

Well, we're off tomorrow to the wonderful ocean. Finally, a few days of real vacation!

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

I'm very bad at posting great links when they come my way, so here's one that is seriously not to be missed. Swear to God, this is the funniest thing I've seen in a while. It's the kind of thing that makes me wish I still wrote Weird Wild Web. In fact, the first Weird Wild Web I ever wrote, I think, was on the Captain James T. Kirk Singalong Site, which sadly seems to no longer exist.

On a somewhat related note, last night I had another dream about going back to IGN. I have these every so often. Apparently part of me still wishes I was working there, writing drivel for no supplementary income whatsoever.

I write. I create. I put some of that here. Read at your own risk. If there were an ampersand code for a little skull-and-crossbones, I'd totally be using it right now.

The term "aqua fortis" was the alchemical nomenclature for nitric acid, a necessary component in etching onto zinc plates for intaglio printmaking. I now use copper plates and ferric chloride almost exclusively, as they are much less toxic, but I still like the sound of "aqua fortis."